Letters From A Stranger
by Harpy Wings
Summary: Set in HBP. “Hermione, I’m in love with Draco Malfoy and some guy I don’t know, but who writes letters I’m dying for to read! How the hell is that normal?” Harry finds mystery letters in the library and a strange relationship occurs. Slash!
1. Book Of French Verses

**Title: **Letters From A Stranger  
**Rating: **T, for 'just in case'  
**Genre:** Romance/Drama  
**Pairings: **Draco/Harry, Mystery guy/Harry and some others  
**Warnings: **SLASH! Weird rambling letters that are pathetic and may offend some people. Swearing, and other stuff. OOC for most characters.  
**Summary: **Set in HBP. "Hermione, I'm in love with Draco Malfoy and some guy I don't know, but who writes letters I'm dying for to read! How the hell is that normal!?" Harry finds mystery letters in the library and a strange relationship occurs  
**IMPORTANT side notes: **I haven't read book 6 for _ages _so the time line and some events are going to be mixed up, changed, altered or completely scrapped. Sorry.

**Hey,**

**I know, I'm writting _another _story. But this one is very short, 7 chapters, exactly. It's to help me get over my writer's block. Sorry, and please enjoy!**

**Chapter 1  
****A Volume of French Verses **

It was almost December. There was a Christmas feel to the air that Harry found himself enjoying. Hermione was still sore over the potions book and Ron and Lavender seemed to be at it more then ever. Harry couldn't help but feel a little sick when he caught sight of them. Mrs. Weasely was enthusiastic to have them all at the Burrow for Christmas and Harry couldn't refuse, mainly because he was worried Slughorn would decide to throw another Slug Club party.

Since Hermione was angry Harry decided he would be nice and agreed to study in the library with her. It was either that, watching Ron and Lavender suck faces, play Quidditch in the freezing snow or obsess over what Draco Malfoy could be doing. Study didn't seem so bad.

Hermione was buried deep in her Transfiguration book and was writing notes in small, cramped handwriting. She had already written two pages, easily four thousand words, and was only up to the fourth page. Harry himself had only managed half a page and was starting to loose concentration.

The library was practically empty as everyone was starting to relax about the up and coming holidays. Two Ravenclaws were studying in a corner and three Hufflepuff girls were giggling over some new romance novels that Madam Prince had just gotten. Harry fiddled with his quill, wondering what he could possibly do that would seem the remotest bit of fun when Hermione snapped her book closed, startling the green eyed teen across from her.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked wearily.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, a pained look on her face. "We're only _months _away from NEWTs."

"Um…'Mione, they're _next _year."

"That's not far away!"

"Uh…Ok."

She sighed and started to pack away her things. "I'm going to have to write up a study guide." She stood, slinging her bag onto her back. "Come on, I can write you one too."

"No, thanks," Harry hurried to assure her. "I'm good. I'll just stay and um…write more notes."

Hermione looked pleased with the excuse and promised to see him at dinner before leaving. When she was gone Harry started to pack up slowly, wondering just what he was going to do. Madam Prince was glaring at him suspiciously from the desk, as though she suspected him to start trashing her perfect library. Harry escaped her gaze and ducked into a random, abandoned isle.

_That woman is crazy, _Harry mused, walking down the isle. He hadn't been here before. The books were all old and dusty, neglected for years and left to their narrow isle, away from the rest of people. Harry's fingers traced the spines, leaving a clear trail through the thick dust, the first contact in years. He felt a compassion for the abandoned books and pulled one free.

It was bound in faded brown leather, the title faded away. He flipped through the yellow pages carefully, scared he would rip them. It was a book of German poetry, translated into English. Written by some famous wizard Harry had never heard of, Horst Artz. So this section was filled with poetry? Harry replaced the book and looked around. One volume in particular caught his eye. It wasn't covered in dusty. The spin was creased from years of use. It was thinner and smaller then the others, crammed between two bulky books.

Harry wedged it free and read the cover, _A Volume of French Verses_, on the front page was a single name, typed in bold letters, Isabelle Leroy. A page was marked and Harry flipped it open. A folded slip of parchment slipped out and landed at his feet. Harry bent down and picked it up. The page in the book caught his eye. It was a short verse and read:

_The days of summer pass us by,  
__The change of seasons greets the day.  
__Cold frost grips hearts,  
__The winter sends shivers of longing.  
__The seasons have changed,  
__And so have our hearts. _

Harry looked down at the note and unfolded it. The letters written upon the page were block and undisruptive as though the writer took great pains to make sure there was nothing of themselves left behind. The one thing that caught Harry was that the page was new.

_Like the changing of seasons comes the change of character. How does one change with a season? Can you ever truly change? One can not live long like the way they are then decide to change themselves. It's impossible! The seasons may change but by the same time next year they are back again. Is it to be like that with people? Shall we change ourselves only to change back after a short period? Does anyone, ever really, hold the power to fully change? Is it an illusion that we are different? A fool can believe he has changed but he will forever be the same, no matter what lengths he takes. It is simply better to subject yourselves to what you are then attempt to fool yourself with the notion that you can change. Change is not necessarily good, so why should we change, only to be knocked back again? Humans always take the simple paths in life, change is not simple, so that is why it isn't attempted. We are to be the way we are until we die. _

Harry stared at the letter. Who could have written this? Without thinking Harry refolded the letter and slipped it into his pocket, replacing the book and leaving the library. The corridors were freezing and Harry's breath made clouds of mist that hung in front of him. He walked around, not knowing his destination or where he was. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew the letter and read it again, absorbing every word, trying to pull back the layers of the writer and find their mind, the soul that wrote every word, every emotion that was written onto the parchment.

Harry stopped in front of a frosted window and looked up from the parchment that had absorbed him for so long. Whoever they were, Harry was curious to know more about them. Judging by the parchment the writer would have to be a student in the school. He wanted to find them, to understand more of this bazaar writing.

**-TBC-**

**Just so you know, I wrote the verse and the letter, and I'm probably the shittiest poet. Please REVIEW and make me feel better, or yell at me to finish. Thanks.**

**With love,  
Harpy Wings**


	2. Snake's Eye

**Hey hey, **

**You're actually back to read more (shock gasps) please enjoy!**

**Chapter 2  
****Snake's Eye**

Harry found himself unusually anxious the next day. He hadn't told Hermione or Ron about the letter, instead he kept it close, determined to keep it as a guilty secret. He had no free periods today so he was forced to wait until lunch to go back to the library and find the book in hope of uncovering another letter. The morning felt a million times slower and Harry hardly concentrated that he blew up Hannah Abbot's tea pot while he attempted to change his rabbit into one too (how he hit Hannah's was far beyond him).

When it was lunch he had to restrain himself from running to the library. He turned the corner into the hallway. He could see the door up ahead, he was so close…

"Hello Harry."

Harry haltered and looked behind him. Luna Lovegood was walking towards him. She had her usual dreamy expression, her radish earrings swinging from her ears.

"Hey, Luna, what's up?" Harry tried not to sound so anxious to leave.

She smiled up at him as she finally reached him. "What's so exciting in the library?"

"It's…" Harry hesitated wondering if he should tell Luna. "I just left my book there, that's all."

She nodded and drifted away towards the stairs. "See you around."

"Yea, bye," Harry called. He waited until Luna was gone before he started again towards the library.

Inside Madam Prince was talking to two seventh year students so Harry slipped by unnoticed. He found the book of verses, wedged between the books. He pulled it out and found the new marked place by another folded piece of parchment.

_We protect the weak,  
__With our final breathe.  
__We defend the hopeless,  
__With our last blow._

Harry opened the letter, feeling his heart beat faster:

_Put others before yourself. Nobody can truly admit to doing that. We're naturally selfish creatures. Every action we perform will always be, for some reason, linked to us. There is no such thing as selflessness. If there are no selfless actions then there is no good in the world, which makes only bad and moderately decent actions acceptable. The do-gooders of the world are just as worse as the bad guys, so there should be no blame. But how do we separate the bad from the moderately decent? Where do we draw the line? Is there even a line? Someone could be labeled 'bad' yet does a moderately decent act, so does it make them bad or moderately decent? Does it even matter? Why do we need stereotypes anyway?_

Harry couldn't keep the words out of his head. All through lunch he kept thinking of them. They rung in his ears and hung around him like a mist. Hermione and Ron were at each other's throats over the whole Lavender issue. Hermione looked so furious she was almost in tears but Harry couldn't pull himself from his mind to help and just sat, staring at them unseeingly.

"Oi, Harry, mate, are you all right?"

Harry pulled himself back into the crushing reality with a jolt. "Huh? Yea, I'm fine. What's going on? Where's Hermione?"

Ron shrugged dismissively. "Don't know, she just took off."

Harry didn't say anything else as they walked to class. All around him he became aware of every student. Anyone one of them could be the letter writer. It was serial to think about it, yet it was also thrilling. Harry's hand went into his pocket and he found the new letter along side the old one.

He was aware of the softest of voices, concealed behind a heavy door. Ron had caught up with Dean and Seamus and was engaged in an animated conversation about Quidditch so Harry was free to slip away and listen in on the hushed conversation.

It was difficult to hear properly and Harry was only able to hear every second word. "…You…jerk…Can't…that you…tell him…agh!"

Harry strained his ears, trying to remember exactly where he had heard that voice before. Then another voice, one he recognized easily, spoke. "I…trying…you…You're…unpredictable…Promised…Take care…you."

"I am _not _a child!"

Harry jumped at just how close the second voice was. He could hear angry footsteps retreating back towards him and he scurried away to hide behind the closest suit of arms. The door was thrown open, slamming against the wall as the second speaker stormed out. Harry didn't dare try and steal a look at whoever it was. He could hardly breathe. The second speaker, probably his third worst enemy, was none other then Draco Malfoy and he couldn't even begin to imagine what Malfoy would say to him, if he was found eavesdropping.

Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy was gone. He was trying to hear something, anything that would give him some sign that the blonde was still there. In the distance he could hear the last of the students hurrying to class and McGonagall's strict voice, giving out detentions.

He decided to brave it, what was the worst that Malfoy could do if he was there? Yell at him? There was no way Malfoy could pull his wand on him, not while McGonagall was around. He steeled himself and stepped out from behind the statue. Malfoy was still there. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed and his breathing calm and low. Harry wondered at the chances of him being able to sneak away but they were diminished when Malfoy's eyes snapped open, the blue-grey irises focused intently on Harry.

Harry stared back. Malfoy looked thinner then he ever was before. It was as though he were slowly wasting away. The robes that had once fit him perfectly were now loose and hung off his body (although not like Dudley's clothes on Harry).

McGonagall barked a detention to another student and Harry snapped out of his trance-like-state. Without taking his eyes off of Malfoy he walked away, until he was around the corner and away from Malfoy's sight.

**-TBC-**

**Quick thanks to:**

Wicked Flaw, lilsteves, loves harry, ValkyrieSeraphim, werecool, thrnbrooke, DaRk-HoPeLsS-rOmAnTiC, QueenNilya, Sakurabound, SaKuRa-MIna **&** Norwegian Moonshadow. **You guys are awesome! Thanks a lot!**

**Please REVIEW! Thanks!**

**With love, (and a new chapter on my other stories soon, promise)**

**Harpy Wings**


	3. The Fear In Your Heart Beats On

**I'm glade you're all enjoying this. Well thanks to everyone and enjoy!**

**Chapter 3  
****The Fear In Your Heart Beats On**

Harry still hadn't told Ron and Hermione about the letters or even about seeing Draco Malfoy and listening in on his strange conversation with the other person he hadn't identified.

Hermione still wasn't talking to Ron, who was spending more time with Lavender so that Harry was left with a very angry Hermione, which meant all she was able to function with was homework and studying. He spent long hours stilling in the library, pretending he was concentrating on his Potions essay when he was really thinking about the letters, and whether there was another.

"Harry, are you all right?"

"Huh, yea, why?"

"You look anxious." Hermione pursed her lips. "I know the NEWTs seem very daungting but if you study hard and not prat around like _someone-_"(Harry was sure she meant Ron) –"Then you should do well."

"Um…Thanks 'Mione, but I was sort of worrying about something else." He jumped to his feet before Hermione could ask him just what it was. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

He disappeared into the poetry aisle. The book was there, wedged in place, looking untouched, yet standing out. He pulled it free and found the new parchment and the page.

_The Fear in your heart beats on,  
__With a rhythm that intensifies.  
__It pulses and thumps,  
__And rages and howls.  
__We can never defeat,  
__This fear of ours. _

He opened the letter:

_Fear is a beat that controls our hearts. We can not run from fear, or overcome it. There is much to fear in life. The small things and the big. We should always fear, for better or for worse. But what is fear really? An emotion we are forced to bear? Or is it something deeper? Something mysterious and unable to be labeled? Should we fear fear? If fear is so good for us then why should we be afraid? Why create fears? For torment? For character? What is the purpose of fear? Why must we be plagued by it? Why must fear control us and make our decisions? Why must we spend our days with fear heavy upon our shoulders and heavier still in our hearts? How I loath fear and what it does to me. But despite this I must acknowledge it. Fear, despite its many faults and flaws, is, I suppose, something to appreciate. Without fear we could not make half the decisions we make. But why do these decisions need to be based off of fear? Why not another emotion? Love, hatred, passion, humor, anything but dammed fear! _

Hermione tried to coax Harry into conversation when he returned but he wasn't interested in talking. That night he lay awake, staring at his ceiling, each of the three letters unfolded and placed around him. Harry could feel each other words swirl around him like a cocoon. He was safe inside the world of the words and he felt as though nothing could reach him or break him.

Harry wasn't sure how long it would be until Malfoy confronted him about the other day. He wasn't expecting it to be so soon though. He was partnered with Malfoy in Potions (Slughorn didn't realize that this was actually torture for Harry) and once they had begun the potion he was all business.

"How much did you hear?"

Harry looked around but nobody was paying them mind. They were all concentrating on their own potions. "Not much."

Malfoy didn't say anything for a time then finally he muttered, "Have you told anyone?"

"No."

"Good."

They didn't say anything and Harry couldn't help but think that this was the most civilized conversation they'd had, ever, and it was only a few words. He was now even more curious about the conversation and why Malfoy was so determined that Harry not know the conversation, that he wouldn't even make a jib or insult.

Harry tried to get more out of the blonde. "So who was with you?"

Malfoy cut the liver with more force then was needed. It bled watery crimson blood over Malfoy's pale fingers and Harry felt his stomach twist.

"Nobody," He said through clench teeth.

Harry didn't believe him for one minute but he decided not to call on it. He saw the way that Malfoy tensed, how the muscles under his flesh twitched and constricted. His brow creased and his nose ever so slightly scrunched up. He was either angry or scared.

Malfoy's hand slipped and the knife, already sticky with the liver blood, sliced across his finger, allowing thicker blood to blossom. He swore loudly and dropped the knife, attracting everyone's attention. Slughorn looked startled.

"You best get up to Pomfrey, Mr. Malfoy. Harry, you can take him."

Harry was reluctant but he walked out of the room with Malfoy, who was still swearing and holding his wrist tightly.

"Here," Harry pulled Malfoy into the nearest bathroom. He turned on a tap and stuck Malfoy's hand under the jet of icy water. Malfoy hissed as the water began to run red and his pale hand was cleaned.

Malfoy only gave him a nod as thanks but Harry didn't say much. When the blood was gone, although the cut continued to bleed, Harry turned off the water and realized that Malfoy was shivering. He hadn't realized how cold it must have been for Malfoy to have his hand under icy water while it was already freezing.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked as they continued walking.

"F-fine," Malfoy tried to stop his teeth from chattering but it was a hard feat.

Harry sighed and took the hand, wrapping it in his own, smaller, but warmer, ones. Malfoy looked like he was going to pull away but Harry warned him that it would hurt his cut and he reluctantly allowed Harry to continue holding it. He was still shivering but his teeth weren't chattering and Harry figured he was getting warmer. His cheeks were rose pink and he figured it was from the wind, although there was no wind in the Castle…

Harry left him at the infirmary and headed back to the dungeons. He couldn't held but rub his hands thoughtfully, the hands that had been holding Malfoy's.

**-TBC-**

**Thanks again to everyone:**

Wicked Flaw, Norwegian MoonShadow, loves harry, cyiusblack, DaRk-HoPeLsS-rOmAnTiC, SaKuRa-MIna, Beth5572 **&** ValkyrieSeraphim. **You guys are awesome, thanks.**

**Q&A:**

**Was Draco the one protected, or the one protecting someone: **Latter, he's protecting a friend, which is revealed later.

**Please REVIEW!**

**Thanks,**

**With love,**

**Harpy Wings**


	4. The Games We Play

**Chapter 4  
****The Games We Play**

Harry had forgotten all about Malfoy soon enough when he rushed off early the next morning to check for notes. He was the first in the library and Madam Prince looked both shocked and annoyed. He got to the aisle and found the book, only there was no letter. He fought back disappointment and left, dejected, to go to breakfast with Ron and Hermione, who were actually speaking again, actually they were acting abnormally nice to one another.

"Did something happen?" Harry demanded when Ron ever so politely handed Hermione the tomato sauce, even though it was in arms reach of her.

Looks of angelic innocence lit up their faces. "Of course not!"

"Uh-huh," Harry muttered under his breath. Lavender walked by, took one look at Ron, burst into tears and ran out of the room, sobbing and howling. "So…What happened to her?"

"PMS?" Ron offered only to get smacked by Hermione. "Ow! Sorry."

Harry was even more suspicious. "Did you break-up with Lavender?"

A sheepish look appeared on Ron's face and he coughed awkwardly. "Kind of…"

"What do you mean 'kind of'?"

"Well you see the thing is…she went bloody mental! Started screaming about how I'd somehow 'thrown our relationship in the mud'" He mimicked Lavender in a high pitched voice that caught everyone nearby attention, "Then well she sort of stormed off and yea…" He trailed off pathetically.

"And you and Hermione hooked up?"

"We did not _hook-up_!" Hermione exploded.

"But you at least kissed," Harry injected.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks then quickly looked away.

"About bloody time!" Harry grinned. "This is great!"

Hermione looked rather shocked. "So you aren't mad?"

"Why would I be mad? I've been waiting for you two to get together for _years_."

Both Hermione and Ron went pink and quickly went back to breakfast.

Harry had two free periods that morning and since there was no new letter and the snow had stopped falling for long enough, he grabbed his broomstick and headed outside. He trudged through the knee deep snow, the water seeping into his socks and making his toes go numb. He reached the pitch and mounted his broom, pushing off as best as he could. He needed to think and flying always helped his train of thought. He rose steadily higher, ignoring the rush of icy wind that pricked his skin and instead thought about what he wanted to sort through.

He couldn't deny, not to himself at least, that he was infatuated with the letters and the mystery writer. He felt like he was seeing into the mind of the writer, knowing their inner thoughts, their character. He felt like he knew someone, someone he wanted to grow closer to. His hand slipped on the bar and he almost fell forwards, his quick reflexes kicked in and he caught himself. Was he possibly crushing on the writer? It seemed bazaar, seeing as he had no clue that they could possibly be, but he felt so close to them and it didn't matter who they were.

The realization that he was falling for a mystery letter writer, who read French verses and never left an identity, seemed odd in his mind, but at the same time it felt so right.

When he turned his broom he fell two feet. Draco Malfoy was kicking off from the ground and gaining height. He was nearly level with Harry, meters away, his pale skin glowing in the light reflected off of the snow. Harry remembered yesterday and the cut and the conversation he'd overheard and the way that his skin had tingled and the way that Malfoy's cheeks had tinted pink.

In his left hand Malfoy held a small golden ball. It was the school's snitch. He held it up, showing Harry and letting the sun glint off of its perfectly polished body. He was offering Harry a silent challenge and Gryffindors never backed down.

The ball was released and they waited five seconds before tearing off after it. It was so much easier to see the golden ball against the snow, but neither cared. This wasn't a game, there was no pressure, and this was just raw skill between two individual players.

Harry caught it first. He dove into a spectacular dive, his toes grazed across the snow, leaving skid tracks. He gripped the ball in his gloved hand and turned to face Malfoy who was hovering just above him, expressionless. Harry released it; they waited for five, and then were off again.

Harry spun through the air, spinning like a bottle rocket. He just missed the snitch and it darted away, only to be snatched up by Malfoy. Harry pulled himself straight, feeling dizzy but still high on adrenalin to care, and waited for the next game. Malfoy released it and they tore away.

Harry was close on its tail, he never gave up as one hand steered his _Firebolt _and the other stretched as far as he could to try and grasp it. Malfoy came up at his side and they were shoulder to shoulder, although Malfoy's hand was just that tiny bit longer. Harry pushed harder, determined to win. Then the snitch dropped out of the sky, whizzing towards earth. Harry and Malfoy dropped with it, eager to keep with the chase.

The snow cushioned earth was coming closer and the snitch was still plummeting. Harry could hear the roar of the wind and could almost hear the cheering of the Gryffindor supporters as they urged him on, shouting and crying out. He sped up, just reaching out…

Then the snitch darted up and Harry and Malfoy were too late, they fell, only able to land on their sides, dropping into the snow, their brooms beside them. Harry felt the sting rush through his body that the impact had created and the air rush from his longs. He rolled onto his back, breathing in the cold air. The snow was starting to melt around him and seeped into his clothes.

"Well…That hurt," Malfoy muttered beside him.

Harry couldn't help it, he started laughing. It felt like an infection as he kept laughing, long and hard. His ribs started to ache and tears were appearing in his eyes. Everything just came rushing out. Ron and Hermione together, his crush on the mystery writer and his sudden weird bond with Draco Malfoy. Malfoy wasn't laughing but he had a goofy smile on his face that made him look almost adorable. It softened his features and made him look younger and healthier and Harry felt a rush of affection. His laughing fit ebbed away and he rolled onto his side to face Malfoy, propping his head onto his hand.

"Why'd you play me?"

Malfoy put his hands behind his head. "To prove I'm better."

"Hey, we tied!"

"No, I would have won that last one."

"No way! I was almost touching it."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want to believe, Potter."

Harry fell silent and stared at Malfoy for a long time. "You look better when you aren't using that stupid mask of yours."

Malfoy arched a white blonde eyebrow. "Are you actually _complimenting _me?"

Harry grinned. "I'm feeling stupid and reckless."

"Stupid…yes. Reckless…constantly."

Harry went to swipe at Malfoy's shoulder but overbalanced. He fell, his face hitting Malfoy's chest and the rest of his body half lying on Malfoy's. He looked up at the Slytherin, his heart pounding. Despite being thin Malfoy was far from unfit. He could feel his muscles rippling under his clothes; feel his breath against Harry's cheek. Without thinking in a moment of spontaneous recklessness, Harry pressed his lips against Malfoy's cold ones. Malfoy was so shocked he didn't responded at first but then his hands came up, holding Harry's face as his lips moved against Harry's.

It was like time stopped. Nothing like kissing Cho, it was so different…

**-TBC-

* * *

**

**Hey! I have terrible news today, our new PM was voted in and it was…Rudd! Agh! I'll just go cry pathetically in a corner now. Anyway, thanks to:**

CrystalSlashLover, Wicked Flaw, SaKuRa-MIna, Tomo Potter, ValkyrieSeraphim, cyiusblack, thrnbrooke, DaRk-HoPeLsS-rOmAnTiC, Beth5572, scintillating **&** werecool.

**You guys are great, thanks. **

**Some Q&A:**

**Does the letter writer know that it's Harry that has the letters or do they not care that someone is reading them? **The latter.

**how is that harry realizes there is no wind in the castle but he doesn't realise that draco was blushing? **Well Harry can be pretty dense, lol.

**no wind, hm? **Uh-huh, lol.

**Any other questions I'll be happy to answer, thanks again and please REVIEW!**

**With love,**

**Harpy Wings**


	5. Keep Your Enemies Close

**Chapter 5  
****Keep Your Enemies Closer**

Harry didn't explain why his lips were red and his clothes were soaked, or why he was grinning. Hermione was suspicious but she didn't prey, probably because she still felt guilty for whatever reason. He changed and went to class, acting as normal as he possibly could while his mind kept wondering back to that kiss. How could he be feeling something for Draco Malfoy, one of his worst enemies? Then there was the mystery letter writer. His grin faded from his face. Crap.

He went back to the library at the end of the day, hopeful for a letter. The book was there and his heart beat faster as he saw a page was marked.

_A kiss as soft as velvet,  
__Skin as smooth as glass,  
__My heart beats wildly,  
__My emotions grow higher.  
__I want this to last,  
__For eternity._

Harry opened the letter and his hands almost shook.

_A kiss is as sweet as the finest wine. Once upon a time I would have disagreed. Why should a kiss be the sweetest thing? The exchange of salvia and bacteria, that's supposed to be sweet? But now I feel my opinion should be altered. It is not the sweetest thing but it is defiantly divine. The feel of one so close, their heart against yours, their life merged with yours, the world as it slows to suit the moment. Romance writers will dress it up, make the world believe that a kiss is a perfect 'to die for' moment in your life. It's not perfect. The setting, the time, sometimes even the person, is never perfect, but once your lips touch, you know that it's something you want to live for forever. Just the way it makes you feel this tingling and this adrenalin that pumps through you. It's…amazing._

Harry couldn't get the words out of his mind. They spelt everything he felt. He felt closer then ever to the writer.

He wasn't so sure what he was going to say to Malfoy. It wasn't like they'd said much after the kiss. They'd just gotten up, picked up their brooms and walked back inside like nothing had happened. They even forgot the snitch, which was probably buzzing around, waiting to be captured. Harry felt like the snitch, floating around with no destination, nothing set in its mind, waiting to be captured.

"Harry!"

Harry looked around at Hermione who was sitting beside him. "Yea?"

"What is going on with you? You've been so out of it lately."

"Sorry, just thinking."

"About what?" When Harry hesitated Hermione added, "You can tell me anything Harry."

Harry fiddled with the hem of his shirt then sighed. "Fine, it's just…I've been sort of, I don't know. I like two people."

Hermione set aside her book, her full attention on Harry. "Explain," she ordered.

Harry sighed and explained it all; the letters from the mystery writer, how he'd fallen for him, hearing Malfoy's conversation then their weird game and the kiss. Hermione listened patiently, not saying a thing until he was finished. Harry was glade the common room was empty as he was sure he'd yelled one or two of the things.

"Harry, don't you have that theory on Malfoy-"

"That he's a Death Eater? Yea, still do." Harry rubbed his scar, more out of habit then pain. "I don't know what I'm doing. I really like the letter writer but I have no idea who they are and that kiss with Malfoy meant something."

"Harry, it's normal to have mixed feelings, even with two people."

"Hermione, I'm in love with Draco Malfoy and some guy I don't know, but who writes letters I'm dying for to read! How the hell is that normal!?"

The corner of Hermione's lips turned up. "You just said that you _love _them."

Harry's cheeks turned pink. "I didn't mean _love_."

"Uh-huh," Hermione agreed mockingly.

Harry glared at her but she ignored him. "Well you have no idea who this letter writer is, so why don't you just try it with Malfoy first? If you do have feelings for him."

"You actually don't mind that I like Draco Malfoy?"

"Harry, it doesn't matter _who _you like, as long as you're happy."

Harry sighed. "The problem is I don't _know _if I'm happy. What if I'm not happy with Malfoy?"

"You can only try."

With Hermione's words on his mind Harry decided that he may as well try. Being with Mafloy couldn't be so bad, could it? It was two days before Harry saw Malfoy again, and during those two days he was disappointed to find that there were no letters. Malfoy looked as tired as ever and there were dark rings under his eyes, which stood out more pronounced because of his pale skin.

He and Harry lent against the cold wall, watching the other students delight in playing snow games. They received more then their fair share of curious stares.

"So, I have to ask, who were you talking to?" Harry asked after some time of silence.

Malfoy looked side-ways at the Gryffindor. "Theodore Nott."

"You're friends with Theodore Nott?" Harry only knew the Slytherin as being a loner who rejected everyone, including his Slytherin housemates.

"Yea, since we were little. He's sort of dating my cousin." At Harry's curious look he added, "Father's side. It's complicated."

Harry let the subject go, satisfied for now, and instead asked, "Why'd you kiss me?"

Malfoy arched his eyebrow. "I was under the impression _you _kissed _me_."

"Yea, but you kissed back," Harry challenged.

"Isn't that the normal reaction for someone who is being kissed?"

"Oh…I sort of figured you'd push me away or something."

"Did you want me to push you away?" Malfoy asked curiously, pushing off the wall so he was blocking Harry from the rest of the students who may be looking over.

"I…don't know," Harry mumbled.

Malfoy smirked and lent forwards, brushing his cold lips against the corner of Harry's mouth. Harry drew in a sharp breath and Malfoy moved his mouth across Harry's jaw, feather light. Harry was paralyzed, not sure how to respond, then Malfoy brought his lips back to Harry's and kissed him hard, bringing a hand up to hold Harry's face. When he pulled back for air Harry felt giddy and light headed while Malfoy looked smug.

"You defiantly don't take things slow, huh?" Harry muttered breathlessly.

Malfoy shrugged, his fingers tracing patterns on Harry's cheek. "What's the point in taking things slow? It's less fun, and besides, even if you took things slow you could still end up heartbroken, this way we get more fun."

He lent down and kissed Harry again, softer and shorter this time. Harry's hand curled around the front of Malfoy's cloak, bringing him closer. It felt strange kissing Draco Malfoy in front of the school, yet out of sight of the students. Thrilling but strange.

**-TBC-

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**

**And there you are, hopefully you enjoyed. Thanks to:**

Illict-666, loves harry, Wicked Flaw, Volleypickle16, Norwegian MoonShadow, thrnbrooke, lilsteves, SaKuRa-MIna, CrystalSlashlover, cyiusblack, ValkyrieSeraphim, DaRk-HoPeLsS-rOmAnTiC, Nameless Little Girl **& **Beth5572.

**Q&A:**

**Weren't people watching their game? Could they have seen that kiss? **For the sake of my plot, nope.

**Do the letters appear in the same book?** Yes.

**And no, I'm not a Howard supporter I just really, REALLY hate Rudd. **

**Thanks again and please REVIEW!**

**With love,**

**Harpy Wings**


	6. The Hearts We Break

**Chapter 6  
****The Hearts We Break**

Things defiantly moved quickly when you were involved with Draco Malfoy. A whole week passed, filled with stolen kisses in secluded corners, looks across the classroom and hallways and the indescribable giddy feelings. Harry hadn't found any more letters but it hardly seemed that important because he'd at least gotten one of the people he liked and Malfoy was no let down.

The only real problems with Malfoy--problems that Harry tried to over look--were that he always kept his stupid mask up, he was secretive constantly and he always seemed to hold back with Harry. Their kisses felt half empty and Malfoy's words were always carefully chosen, as though he were afraid to say something that could reveal a secret. Harry tried not to let it bother him, he loved every second that he was with Draco (Because he'd stopped calling him by his surname about two days into their strange relationship) and he could care less about Ron, who was going red at the very thought of it.

"How could you be with that bastard!?" Ron howled when Harry finally told them.

Hermione had slapped him and given him a '_stop being an idiot'_ look. "We're happy for you, Harry."

"Speak for yourself!"

Harry ignored Ron's constant remarks and side comments about Draco and continued with his happy daze. It wasn't just the snogging that made Harry more attracted to the blonde, sometimes he was able to let down his mask long enough to do something romantic, like sending Harry, through out the day, a dozen red and yellow roses (Gryffindor colours, which meant it must have been painful for Draco to lower himself to it) and Honeyduke's chocolate. Sometimes he'd just stare at Harry, as though he were seeing him for the first time.

Ron tried to convince Harry that Draco was a Death Eater (just like Harry had previously suspected) and that Harry shouldn't trust him. These warnings went unheard and Harry only spent even more time alone with the blonde, as though proving that Draco had no intentions of killing him.

It was one of these occasions that Harry snuck Draco into his dorm, while his housemates were all out enjoying lunch. The room was quiet and messy and Harry's heart picked up speed as Draco dropped his bag beside Harry's bed and looked around.

"Merlin, this place is so…_Red_."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It is the _Gryffindor _dorm room."

"I suppose." Draco turned to face him. "I can't believe I'm braving the lion's den. A Snake among lions, this could get ugly."

Harry smirked and looked Draco up and down. "Well…Not on my side."

Draco's face twisted into a mask of fake outrage. "Are you suggesting that I, Draco Malfoy, am _ugly_!? You know, insults aren't the greatest way to get someone into bed."

"I could always charm you," Harry suggested.

Draco scoffed at the idea. "You, charm me? I'd like to see you try."

Harry closed the distance between them and captured Draco's lips. Draco kissed back enthusiastically, tasting the raven haired teen. They'd never had the temptation of an alone room and bed before and Harry had no problems with going further, but it still didn't halt the waves of nerves.

Draco pulled away and kissed Harry's neck lightly, making the smaller teen shiver and his hands went to the hem of Harry's shirt, his fingers brushing against Harry's lower stomach, temptingly close to Harry's jeans waistband. He pulled away and looked Harry in the eye, silently asking him if he wanted to go on. Harry slipped his hands under Draco's shirt and ran his hands over Draco's chest.

The blonde pulled Harry's shirt over his head, kissing up Harry's chest and along his neck. Harry pulled away and grabbed Draco's shirt, pulling him free. Draco seemed reluctant and he kept his arms around Harry's waist. Harry pulled Draco's hands up wondering what on earth Draco was so worried about. The Slytherin tried to pull away but it was too late, Harry saw the flash of black on his left arm and his heart stopped.

"Draco?"

Draco hid his arm, avoiding Harry's eye. "It's nothing."

"Oh, so being branded with a Dark Mark is nothing?" Harry was trying not to sound hysterical but it was hard when you realize the guy you like is supporting your worst enemy.

"Just forget it."

"Kind of hard, Draco. Did you forget the small fact that Voldermort _is trying to kill me_!?"

"Harry, I can explain-"

"Explain!? Oh this will be fun! Ok, Draco, explain why you're a Death Eater." Harry shouted. He could hear downstairs that Gryffindors were starting to come back from lunch. "You know what, Malfoy; I don't want to see you ever again." Harry stormed over to the door, wrenching it open. "Just leave, now."

Draco had already pulled his shirt back on and walked over to Harry. "Harry, can we just talk, please," he pleaded. His mask was gone and he looked desperate.

"I don't want to talk, Malfoy. Leave." Harry didn't look at him as Draco left, he didn't care that the nearly half of the Gryffindors were downstairs and would see Malfoy leaving, or that he was crying or even that he had just lost someone he had been slowly falling in love with.

Hermione found Harry curled on his bed, crying quietly. She muttered a soft, "oh Harry" and sat beside him, pulling him into a comforting hug. They stayed like that for a long time and finally, by nightfall, Harry's sobs had subsided and Hermione had fallen asleep. Harry climbed out of bed and covered himself in the invisibility cloak. He snuck out of the common room, which was still filled with students, and headed towards the library.

It was deathly silent and the only light was from the moonlight streaming through the windows. He walked into the poetry section and found the book. It was marked by another letter and Harry walked over to a window, squinting to read the passage and letter.

_The mark burns upon my flesh,  
__It wraps itself around my soul,  
__I'm chocking on the chains,  
__That bind me to my destiny._

This time the letter's writing was messy, as though the writer had been shaking.

_How can we fight what we are or have become? Is one mark supposed to define us for eternity? Can we not break free from that mark, go off and become our own person. Must we go with what we are given? I can not breathe in the bindings I've been restrained by. I can't live like this, it's so secluded and so distant from the rest of the world. I live in one world of misery, pain an unwanted decisions and I can't find a break. No, I have found a break, a way to freedom, but I could not hold onto it and it slipped through my grasp. I can never find freedom again. I am doomed to these bindings._

**-TBC-

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**

**There you are, hopefully you all enjoyed! Thanks to:**

Wicked Flaw, tilly-tally-tease, lilsteves, ValkyrieSeraphim, SaKuRa-MIna, cyiusblack, Bath5572, MidnightSunrise951, thrnbrooke **& **volleypickle16.

**Q&A:**

**It is the same person, right? **Can't tell ya, but you'll find out next chapter.

**Any more questions I'll be happy to answer!**

**Please review!**

**With love,**

**Harpy Wings**


	7. Love Me Tender

**Chapter 7  
****Love Me Tender**

Harry refused to talk about anything that was closely related to Malfoy. The mere mention of it set him off. The Gryffindors had learnt to tread lightly when dealing with Harry and despite their curiosity they never asked what had happened between him and Malfoy. Malfoy had tried, on more then one occasion, to try and reconcile with Harry, but Harry refused to even look at him. He felt physically sick at the idea of the mark.

All he had was his letters, and the idea that he only had a week until the holidays, where he could go to the Burrow and far away from Malfoy. Hermione constantly suggested, stubbly, that he should talk to Malfoy, but Harry out right refused. He wished for more then anything that he knew the letter writer, so that he could talk to them and could get an answer.

Malfoy pulled Harry into the empty History classroom on Friday, three days before the holidays (still no new letters). Harry glared angrily at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy? Here to hand me over to your _Lord_?"

Malfoy's hand reached up to touch Harry's face but the Gryffindor slapped the offending hand away. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Well I don't want to talk to you, so just leave me alone." Harry left without looking back.

There was more tension then ever between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. The Slytherins were convinced Harry had spelled Malfoy and the Gryffindors were convinced that Malfoy had tried to hand Harry over to Voldermort. Neither Harry nor Malfoy bothered to correct anyone on the real reason. Ron was torn between being happy that Harry was back to hating Malfoy and furious that Malfoy had hurt Harry.

Harry desperately waited for another letter, but one never came. He had to satisfy himself by re-reading the letters he had, over and over until he knew each by heart. Every afternoon and morning he went back looking for the new letter.

One morning, 2 am, to be exact, he went down to the library, under the cloak, determined to find a letter. When he walked into the library, happy to see that Madam Prince wasn't around, he crept towards the poetry section but stopped dead in his tracks.

He could hear the scratching of a quill against parchment coming from the aisle. Harry crept closer, holding his breathe. He was going to finally meet the writer he had fallen for. His palms were sweating and he felt weak at the knees. He peered around the corner and could make out the shape of a person, sitting against the cupboard, hunched over a piece of parchment. It was much too dark for Harry to see them properly; although he could make out that they were a guy.

Harry walked closer, careful not to make a sound. The writer was much too wrapped up in his writing to notice any noise Harry may have made. Harry was so close now, he could see who it was and he almost fell over in shock.

'Draco!' he mouthed to himself.

Sure enough it was Draco Malfoy, wearing casual clothes, his hair still messy from sleep and his hand flying across the page, writing down his thoughts about the verse that was open at his feet. Harry lent over to read.

_Love is a tender rose,  
__It grows under affection,  
__Blossoms under attention.  
__It should never be cut,  
__Never be lost._

Harry looked up at Draco, tears pricking at his eyes. Draco was, maybe, in love with him? Harry wanted to throw off the cloak and wrap his arms around Draco, but he knew he couldn't, he was far too scared. He would just wait for Draco to finish the letter, to place it in the book like he always did and then Harry would read it. He couldn't believe it was Draco who wrote the letters. All along he had been in love with the same person, just different sides of him.

Harry watched Draco write. He watched the conflicted emotions that played across his face as he wrote. Harry loved watching him without his mask. He was like a work of art that you could never understand unless you studied long and hard. When he was finished, Draco folded the letter, placed it in the book then wedged it place. Then he walked away, his hands buried in his pockets and his head low.

Harry waited until he was sure he was gone then threw off his cloak, grabbed the book and flipped to the letter.

_Love is like a breath of fresh air. But if love is broken then are we to suffocate? What fool depends their life upon love, a fragile emotion that can be shattered and destroyed with the simplest of words. If love is so just and pure how can a human obtain it? The purest of emotions can not be love because love is not pure. Love is pain and pain is life. We can not live life without love but we can not survive love. Love is the most violent of emotions It over shadows jealously. It throws itself onto its host with the deadliest of weight and rules them to a bitter end. When the first blossoms of love fade what is left? The bitter, dark side of love that is never discussed. Love fuels other emotions, impure and irrational that drive people crazy. Why should we subject ourselves to that? So that we may experience the small does of that blinding emotion? Is pain worth so much? _

_Today, I say…yes._

Harry kept the letter close all day. Tomorrow he would be leaving to the Burrow. He had today and tomorrow morning to talk to Draco. He tried to plan what he could do or say but nothing came to his mind. Finally, he decided an out wards approach would work.

Harry searched for Draco as they boarded the train but he couldn't see the blonde anywhere. The whole train ride he was anxious. He knew what he was going to say and do but it didn't make him any less nervous. Hermione and Ron left him alone and he read the letters again. As the train pulled into platform 9 and ¾ he was the first to jump out of his seat and made his way onto the station.

Mr. Mrs. Weasely were waiting and waved happily. Harry waved back but before he could walk over to them he saw who he had been looking for. Draco was walking with Theodore Nott, his head down and his mask back in place. Harry grinned and ran over, ignoring the crowd around him and the confused looks of the Weasleys and Hermione. He reached Draco who looked up when Theodore nudged him, confused as to why Harry was there.

"Har-"

Before he could finish Harry reached up and kissed him hard, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck. Draco responded instantly, he kissed back, winding his arms around Harry's waist and pulling him closer. Faintly Harry could hear Theodore say loudly, "Uh…we are on a platform."

They pulled away and Draco hugged him closer, burring his face in Harry's hair.

"I read your letters," Harry said softly so only Draco could hear. Around him was an explosion of whispers, and shocked explanations but neither cared.

Draco looked down at him. "You were the one reading them?"

"Yea, they're very…insightful. I never knew you were so…"

"Dramatic?"

"I was going to say creative, but that suits," Harry detangled himself from Draco and gave him once last parting kiss. "I'll see you next term. Oh, and I expect a lot of letters."

He walked away while Draco grinned goofily, the same grin that he had worn when they crashed into the snow while playing Quidditch. Harry just couldn't _wait _for next term.

**-Fin-

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**Sorry it's been a while since I last updated. It's Christmas day so Merry Christmas! This is my present to you all. Hopefully I'll have something posted soon, but please enjoy.**

**Thanks to: **loves harryDaRk-HoPeLsS-rOmAnTiC, jadestar5, Wicked Flaw, acesther, cupcakexheartagramsxdraco, volleypickle16, tilly-tally-tease, thrnbrooke, Nameless Little Girl, Beth5572, sasuke-uchiha720, Lisa, **you guys are amazing, thanks!**

**Please review and thanks for reading. **

**With love,**

**Harpy Wings**


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